


i don't need a dozen roses

by weakspots



Series: camboy!verse [2]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bad Jokes, Barebacking, Bathroom Sex, Bottom Shane Madej, Boys in Skirts, Butt Plugs, Camboy! Shane, Come Eating, Crossdressing, Drunk Blow Jobs, Drunk Sex, Edgeplay, Exhibitionism, Feminization, Getting Together, Halloween, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masturbation, Phone Sex, Public Masturbation, Pumpkins, Rimming, Rough Oral Sex, Voyeurism, Webcam/Video Chat Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-09-16 21:44:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16962039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weakspots/pseuds/weakspots
Summary: They're not… dating, or boyfriends, or in love, or any of these things. Ryan's pretty sure on that front.





	1. wider baby, smile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...hello there! ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
> 
> i was working on something else entirely after finishing hey boy (and i still am), but these gay little morons just won't leave my brain, so you're stuck with whatever this is. 
> 
> this isn't an actual fic as much as it is a collection of vignettes / snippets / whatever i could and can think of. (i had, like, 3 oneshots set in this universe planned before deciding i could just compile them into one whole thing.) think of this as a scrapbook for shane and ryan's relationship after the events of hey boy. some chapters will be shorter than usual. 
> 
> this one takes place about a month after the events of chapter 5. 
> 
> fic title from **get on your knees**. it's shane's theme song.

_LakersFan3 joined!_

After a few seconds of static, the image crackles to life.

 ** _SPOOKY SLUTTY FUN_** , tonight's stream is called, appropriately accompanied by the bat emoji, the black heart, and the sparkles for good measure.

Shane, on screen, smiles briefly when he sees Ryan's username pop up, and then resumes what he was doing before Ryan entered the chatroom. Which consists of laying back on his bed — covered in a plastic sheet tonight — his face not visible except for his mouth, a trickle of red trailing down his bottom lip and chin.

His throat appears slit. The gash doesn't look too convincing; the stains all over his cheerleader top an almost comically fake shade of red — it looks more like raspberry or cherry syrup than blood — but Ryan figures that's the point. Nobody _really_ wants to jerk it to a crime scene.

Well, some people definitely do, but he hopes the overlap between them and pink_princess92's subscribers is marginal.

Ryan's own throat is a little dry as he watches Shane lazily stroke his hand across his exposed abdomen, teasing his fingertips along the waistband of his tennis skirt. He's still fully dressed. Ryan lets out a relieved breath — he would hate missing this part the most, the way Shane teases his audience before really getting to it. He takes a sip of his La Croix, and after he sets it down, cups his dick through his pants.

It's too hot in this room. He should've turned the heating down, but it's too late for that now; there is no way he's getting up until the stream is over.

(10:11pm) **Twnk_Lvr** : Thats not real blood is it?

Ryan smiles without really noticing it. Tonight's show is going to be a good one, Shane had told him as much.

(10:12pm) **Guest 291** : Omg Ur so lovely EVEN like this!!

These streams, they all follow the same script, the same formula, but Ryan never gets tired of watching them, can't imagine ever wanting to stop.

(10:12pm) **justguystuff6** : Are you single?

Neither does anyone else in pink_princess92's ever growing fanbase, apparently. He's gaining a significant amount through the halloween shows he does twice a week this month, so much that the other day, Shane mentioned he may be breaking 100,000 soon, all nonchalant over breakfast, like so many people getting off to him naked wasn't the coolest thing ever.

(10:13pm) **RichardT1228** : U think u could take this cock baby?

Ryan frowns. The screen name, however vague, ignites a memory in him, sudden and stinging, of that time Richard Townley from his Algebra class, the one with the stupid bowlcut, made fun of a boy for saying his favorite color was pink.

They must've been no older than 8 years old at the time, and Ryan remembers giggling along, not really knowing why, just that something about it was really funny.

Well, he's not laughing now.

_Chat has been muted._

(10:14pm) **LakersFan3** : Hi babe :)

He leans back in his chair, smiles.

He's ready for the show.

— 🌸 —

Ryan's cleaned up and laying in bed when his phone buzzes, and he's smiling before he's even read the message.

He was expecting this. Anticipating it, maybe, checking his phone every other minute to see if Shane was gonna text him after the show.

He always does, after all.

(11:24pm) **shane** : miss me that much?

The smile turns into a grin, his steady heartbeat into something faster.

(11:25pm) **You** : I just like seeing you

(11:25pm) **shane** : did you like it? :p

Like he doesn’t already know the answer.

(11:26pm) **You** : Eh it was ok...

(11:26pm) **You** : ;)

(11:27pm) **shane** : ohh getting cocky huh

Maybe the permanent smile he's got on his face when they're talking like this should freak him out.

Instead, it just... is what it is.

There's no need to stress about it, really. Stress would imply that this whole thing means something, and well, they're not dating or anything. Definitely not, because dating your coworker is stupid, dating your _male_ coworker is even more stupid, and also Ryan’s pretty sure that Shane doesn’t date.

He doesn't exactly seem like the type.

And why label it? It's fine the way it is, with Shane staying over sometimes, taking up all the space in Ryan's bed but also keeping it warm. Or Ryan staying over at Shane's, even though that always ends with Shane sleeping in his shirts and ultimately stealing them. He's gonna run out one day.

Shane looks pretty good in them, though, so he's not complaining.

So, yeah. They're not… dating, or boyfriends, or in love, or any of these things, Ryan's pretty sure on this front. He's also been spacing out and thinking about this for way too long instead of focusing on the more important things in life, like calling Shane out on his vocabulary.

(11:31pm) **You** : "cocky"? ;p

He wonders if Shane’s texting other guys like this, though. Not that he would mind, not that it's any of his business, not that he could do anything about it _if_ he cared — and he really doesn't — but...

(11:31pm) **shane** : :) ;)

(11:32pm) **shane** : wanna come over?

...he doesn't think so, anyways. Shane doesn't need to text other guys, because he’s got Ryan, and really, how many guys _can_ you text? It would probably get boring, texting more than one guy.

Ryan’s also pretty certain he's not seeing anyone else.

Not that he would mind that, it’s just something he’s observed. _Not because he cares._

It's just something he's aware of, almost subconsciously — no hickeys on Shane that Ryan didn't make himself, no bruises on his hips that his fingers didn't leave. So many people see Shane in the most promiscuous of poses every week, but it seems that at the moment, Ryan is the only one who gets to put his hands on him, leave kisses along his spine, sleep with an arm slung around his waist.

He supposes he's fine with that.

(11:35pm) **You** : On my way in 10.

And if he adds three sparkle heart emojis after that, well, it's only because Shane used them first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🦇🖤✨ chapter title from **girls on film** by msi. kudos, comments, and constructive criticism are as always appreciated. much love. ♡


	2. is it too much to ask?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy holidays! have some filth. also, ao3 supports emojis now, so expect this fic to become even more obnoxious than it already was.

There are things in life that no amount of academic knowledge or youtube tutorials can prepare you for, things you will only learn through experience and tough life lessons and failing multiple times.

Taking selfies for your followers, for example.

Really, it's way more elaborate than just snapping a picture. There's the lighting, for example. Lighting is crucial, of course, because this public image Shane has been maintaining for his followers is a well-crafted one — he's not gonna just snap a blurry picture of his ass in the bathroom mirror like some sort of amateur.

Unless somebody asks for that.

No, his pictures all have pastel hues and a soft, dreamlike glow to them. A filter here, some smoothing there. A flower emoji or two covering anything too explicit — this one is crucial, because it leaves whoever is eyeing the picture wanting more, hopefully purchasing a video from his site.

This is a private Snapchat meant to promote his account, after all, not a charity.

He takes the final picture of the day — a classy one, from the chin down, only his upper body exposed, waistband of his underwear barely visible — and once it's been sent, he puts down his phone, satisfied. God, he loves this job.

It can be exhausting, though, and he must doze off after this, because he startles awake maybe half an hour later to the sound of keys unlocking his front door, footsteps and then… _rumbling_ in his living room.

The keys aren't the problem — he gave Ryan a copy around two weeks ago, mostly out of convenience so he could let himself in in case Shane was filming a video or otherwise busy, and hey, the guy had looked only slightly flustered.

The rumbling, though. If Ryan’s decided to bring his Xbox, they're going to have a problem.

He stumbles to his feet disorientedly, drags a shirt over his head before opening the door leading to his living room, and if there's one thing he doesn't expect to see, it’s four pumpkins sitting on his dinner table (pure decoration, by the way. He usually eats take-out, and he mostly consumes it in bed, especially ever since Mukbangs have gotten so popular.), Ryan walking into the room carrying a fifth and a sixth one.

What the hell.

"What the hell?" he exclaims, but Ryan’s already out his front door again, cursing under his breath. He appears a minute later with one final pumpkin, looking a little exhausted and very, very proud. "So," he says, smiling, clasping his palms together like he is about to deliver the announcement of a lifetime, right here in Shane's living room at 9 fucking pm, "Hi. We have a dilemma on our hands."

 _Yeah_ , Shane wants to say, _you must’ve spent around fifty dollars on these, maybe this is what happens when I’m not making you pay for the ass pics._

He doesn't, though, because he's not about to ruin their first Halloween together, and so he just sends Ryan a questioning look instead.

"There's seven of these. We should have gotten an even number, you know. One of us is gonna get to carve one more. It's unfair. Unless we have a joint pumpkin, I guess. What do you think?"

Shane just continues staring, which Ryan seems to see as an invitation to walk over and kiss him. And it's such a small gesture, just a peck on the lips, Ryan getting on his tiptoes for it, but it makes Shane's heart flutter a little — maybe _because_ it's so small, nothing like their first kiss was. It just feels… very normal. Domestic, maybe, like they've been doing this for years.

Something is still bothering him, though. "You, uh. You said carve. So, what, like, all of them? We're carving 'em all? As decorations?"

"Well, yeah. What did you think?"

If he's being honest, he thought Ryan was coming over to watch a movie and screw his brains out, not carve pumpkins. It makes him itch under his skin in all the wrong ways, because sure, this is gonna be fun and he's definitely up for it, it just isn't something you do with the guy you're hooking up with. It's something you’d do with the guy you're dating, and the only thing bothering Shane about that is how Ryan must be _absolutely_ oblivious to that fact.

Otherwise, he would've never done this.

Ryan's facial expression is sinking with every second that Shane isn't replying, and Shane doesn't like that, so he scrambles for rescue. "I just, uh, don't know. Wasn’t expecting an abundance of pumpkins tonight. But yeah. It's great. Soup. I can make soup. This is way too many pumpkins for just us two, though. We're gonna be drowning in soup. Lost in the sauce, as the kids say.”

The corner of Ryan's mouth twitches. "Kelsey has that party tomorrow, in case you forgot. I'm sure she'll appreciate it. I mean, I've never had soup at a party, actually, but it's a Halloween party, so…? Fun gimmick. We'll pull up with the Tupperware, they're gonna love it."

"Are you asking me out?"

"Huh?"

Pure obliviousness. It's cute.

"You just invited me as your plus one to the party, didn't you?"

Ryan averts his eyes, suddenly absolutely fascinated with one of the pumpkins he brought in, fingers touching the stalk. "I was just… assuming we were gonna go together. Out of convenience. I mean, you’re invited, I’m invited… We can share the Uber. Plus, I kinda wanna see your costume before everyone else does."

Shane grins. "Trust me, you do."

Ryan's face is the shade of Shane's favorite lipstick, and he ends up busying himself in Shane’s adjoining kitchen, gathering various utensils to gut the pumpkins with while Shane sinks into his couch, pretending to check his phone but mostly making sure Ryan doesn't cut his arm off.

He seems pretty confident in his abilities, though, Shane’s gotta give that to him, and so he ends up reading his private messages while Ryan scrubs one of the pumpkins clean, more out of habit than out of genuine interest in whatever PxssyDestroyer62 has to say to him. When he looks up at Ryan again, the guy has his whole hand in the pumpkin, digging away to get all the seeds out.

And God, he can't help it. He just can't. He clears his throat, points at the gourd. "So, wanna re-enact that, or?"

Ryan looks down at the current state of his hand inside the pumpkin, looks back at Shane on the couch, wearing only a shirt and underwear. Shane smirks, and Ryan chokes on air.

"I, uh. I. No. W-, what, I mean, sure, whatever you want, but..."

They stare at each other for a second. Shane licks his lips. Ryan averts his eyes, his face awfully red.

"Uh, d-don’t you wanna start carving your own?" he pipes up after a moment, looking flustered.

"Sure," Shane says, getting up from the couch and walking over to Ryan, peeking over his shoulder. Ryan shivers when Shane puts his hand on his waist, presses a kiss to the side of his jaw. "I was joking, by the way."

He wasn't.

Ryan swallows. "Oh, haha, yeah. I figured."

Shane smiles. God, making him lose his mind is way too easy.

Come to think of it, he could spend forever doing just that.

 

* * *

 

Shane's not entirely sure where he is or how he got here. What he does know is that he's crotch-level with someone, bathroom floor tiles digging into his bare knees. It hurts in a good way, and when he looks up, hey, that’s Ryan right there, leaning against a sink, pants pooled around his ankles. Thank Christ. He hasn’t been crotch-level with anyone else since they first hooked up, and he’s actually not quite sure he’d want to be.

It’s kind of pathetic. Dozens of guys at this party, and he’s just been eyeing Ryan across the room all night, waiting for a chance to pounce.

And right. Party. They're at Kelsey's Halloween party, and they might have each had a shot or five too many. Their pumpkin soup was well-received, though, and he feels great about that.

He also feels great about Ryan’s fingers in his hair, slowly guiding him towards Ryan’s crotch. The guy’s still wearing underwear, and Shane makes a protest-noise, low in his throat, because what he wants right now is skin on skin, and Ryan’s dick in his mouth.

Ryan seems to have different plans, though, because he stops moving Shane’s head towards him, tugs at some strands of hair instead. Not very hard, but not exactly gentle, either. Shane looks up at him, curious, and Ryan is just staring, mouth hanging open. He can see the movement in his throat when he swallows before speaking, his voice a little raspy. “I can’t believe you’re fucking wearing that.”

Shane’s flattered. It’s not the first time he’s heard that tonight — people seem to find it hilarious that a grown man would wear a cheerleader outfit, which is absolutely incomprehensible. Especially because there is fake blood on it, making it totally Halloween appropriate. Good to know he’s been making Ryan lose his mind, though, and hey, maybe that was the intention of wearing this get-up at all.

"Well, it’s a classic. My fans love it, y'know."

"It’s…" Ryan trails off, shakes his head. "It’s a lot to deal with."

He supposes he’s allowed to feel a little smug. "You think? It’s not the first time you’ve seen it. You should be used to it by now."

Ryan huffs out a laugh. "Doubt I’ll ever get used to it. All of this, Shane." He cards his fingers through Shane’s hair again, tenderly. It feels intimate. His voice is soft, and Shane doesn’t know what to reply, fears what might come out, and so he smiles, shuffles a little closer on his knees, grabs hold of one of Ryan’s thighs. Ryan shivers. "C'mon," he says, "Let’s do this. There’s a line outside already, probably."

Ryan nods, shaky but present, and Shane decides to not waste any more time, grabs a hold of Ryan’s boxers and pulls them down. He goes right in — runs his tongue run along the underside of Ryan's half-hard dick, and Ryan whines, which Shane takes as initiative to go further, take Ryan into his mouth, slowly, teasingly, waiting for Ryan to make the next move.

And he does — one hand still in Shane’s hair, he guides his dick in further inch by inch. He is slow, careful. Way too careful for Shane’s liking, and Shane withdraws again, lets Ryan slip out of his mouth, looks up at him.

He probably looks like a cheap whore right now, on his knees with his skirt drawn up his thighs, lips spit-slick, his eye make-up smudged. "Ryan," he says, and Ryan just stares, "Are you gonna fuck my mouth, or what?"

He had said he would, earlier, after giving him looks from across the room for the better part of two hours and then finally dragging him around a corner into the empty kitchen. One hand under his skirt, mouth against his neck, smelling like tequila. _I can’t believe you fucking look like this,_ his voice low, _been thinking about you all night_ , and Shane leaning into the touch, watching the door to make sure nobody was coming in, and Ryan sucking a hickey into his skin, _I bet everybody here wants to fuck you_. Shane feeling his hard dick through his pants, and then, finally, Ryan dragging Shane behind him by his hand into the bathroom next-door, pushing him to his knees.

Ryan is still looking down at him, dick hanging in the air, which should be funny, and it kind of is, but Shane is way too transfixed waiting for an answer right now, and he gets it in the form of Ryan nodding, wetting his lips, repeating the movement of tugging Shane’s hair from just a minute ago, but way harder this time.

He guides his dick in Shane’s waiting mouth again, as deep as he can this time, not meeting any resistance.

"Fuck," Ryan gasps, "that’s– so good, Shane, fuck."

Shane can’t smirk or grin cockily like he wants to, his mouth too full, but he looks up at Ryan, waiting for him to make a proper move, to really use his mouth the way Shane wants him to, and he doesn’t have to wait long. Ryan draws back, thrusts in again, harder this time, making Shane moan around his dick.

The combination of alcohol and Shane’s positive noises must make Ryan lose his inhibitions, then, thank God, because he stops holding back, grabs ahold of Shane’s hair, _hard_ , finally, his breath hitching in his throat as he begins fucking Shane’s mouth in earnest. Shane tries his hardest not to gag; but he fails, and he loves it.

He wants to touch himself, but his hands are preoccupied, one still gripping Ryan’s thigh to steady himself, nails digging into his skin, and the other playing with Ryan’s balls for a while and then wandering, and when he drags his finger over his perineum, something he would’ve never done if they were both sober, just to see what he’ll do… Ryan _whines_ his name.

Huh.

He does it again, his touch unmistakably deliberate this time, and Ryan moans, grip tightening in Shane’s hair even more. He decides to go all in — nothing to lose here, it seems, and so wets his finger with his own spit where Ryan is fucking his mouth and positions it back where it was, caressing the skin around Ryan’s hole, and God, from the sounds he’s making, Ryan fucking loves it. He lasts maybe one more minute, probably less before he ultimately gasps, "Fuck, _fuck_ , Shane, I’m— God, I love—" and moans, comes down his throat and sends him into a coughing fit.

He needs a few seconds to gather himself, and when he does, wiping at his mouth, he can only imagine how debauched he must look, spit and come all over his lips, his hair a mess.

Ryan offers him a hand and he pulls him up, Shane’s arms immediately going around him to steady himself, Ryan hissing when Shane’s hips press against his spent dick, and he giggles, his voice fucked-out, happy. "Let me…" he says, reaching under Shane’s skirt to shove his underwear down with one hand and spitting in the other to finally, finally get a hand around his hard, neglected dick.

Shane closes his eyes, ( _I love_ , is stuck on repeat in his mind, circling around his brain, bouncing off the walls of his skull) puts his head on Ryan's shoulder as Ryan jerks him off, muttering encouragements in his ear, "So fucking good, babe, so pretty on your knees for me," and Shane whimpers as his movements speed up, Ryan muttering filth into his ear. "What if someone walked in and saw you, would you just let them have their way with you too?", and he whines, shakes his head in protest, ( _I love, I love, I love_ ), mumbles, "No, no, Ryan, 's just you." and Ryan laughs softly, says, "I know, sweetheart, c'mon, come for me," and Shane does.

They stand there in silence for a few seconds, catching their breath. Someone bangs on the door, and Shane lifts his head from Ryan’s shoulder, looks at him and laughs, all giddy, drunk on pomegranate punch and jello shots, drunk on Ryan.

"We should go," he says, "or we’re getting kicked out for real."

He looks at himself in the mirror while Ryan tucks himself back into his pants, trying to assess the damage. It's really not too bad, but he feels like what just happened is all over his face anyways. He kisses Ryan once more for good measure, messes his hair up before they leave the room. "Guy can't hold his liquor,” Shane says to the guy waiting outside, someone they’ve never seen before, thank fuck, and Ryan just snorts when the guy rolls his eyes, "I had to hold his hair back, can you believe that? He's terribly sorry."

Anyways.

_I love your mouth._

He's sure that’s the sentence Ryan was going for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from **dick in the air** by peaches. [irl pic](https://media1.popsugar-assets.com/files/thumbor/wyIJZajHETfh3qTbFg6gbzPF_SM/fit-in/1024x1024/filters:format_auto-!!-:strip_icc-!!-/2012/10/43/1/192/1922398/9a68e00e73d7c86f_INFphoto_2313229._original_wm/i/Hugh-Dancy-carried-two-large-pumpkins-Toronto.jpg) of ryan carrying those pumpkins.
> 
> in case you live under a rock and haven't seen that infamous test friends video, here's [shane's cheerleader outfit](https://66.media.tumblr.com/30d1a0c7dc9ca2668675f30de61097f0/tumblr_pa2bi65Jsj1s8qqano1_1280.png). i'll shut up about it the day ryan decides to shut up about it.
> 
> luv u all. 💝


	3. light me up (put me on top)

(4:23pm) **shane:** hi

(4:44pm) **shane:** whats up 😘

(5:12pm) **shane:** my flight is delayed im BORED!!! send dog pics once u read this

(5:12pm) **shane:** i want you to know that autocorrect thought i wanted dick pics. thats how far technology has come. they know me too well

Ryan snorts at the text, which is enough to catch the attention of 3 separate people, and tilts the screen a little to shield the view from anyone who may want to look at his phone. Everybody has been way too nosy since his last break-up, probably waiting for him to bring a new girlfriend over for tomorrow's Christmas dinner.

Well, they're shit out of luck this year.

(8:29pm) **You** : Im sorry

(8:29pm) **You** : Im with the fam. You know how it is.

(8:30pm) **You** : ...So you want wiener pics huh

(8:30pm) **You** : 😜

(8:42pm) **shane** : that joke sucks and you should be ashamed. woman next to me is looking at me weird because i laughed

(8:45pm) **shane** : oh im on the plane now and it has the worst wifi ever

(8:45pm) **You** : [ [Image Attachment] ](https://www.instagram.com/p/Br0rsh3Afd-/)

(8:50pm) **shane** : ok that took 5 minutes to load but worth every second

(8:51pm) **shane** : i cant believe they put up with these outfits but im so thankful. i love them

(8:52pm) **shane** : this flight is like 2 more hours so keep me entertained

(8:55pm) **You** : Sorry buddy boardgame time. I can try to lose on purpose to get back to you faster?

(8:57pm) **shane** : oh no thats fine man have fun

(8:57pm) **shane** : ..."buddy." bro... my homie...

(8:57pm) **You** : lmao

(8:57pm) **You** : Have a safe flight 💖

He takes a deep breath.

(8:58pm) **You** : I wish you were here.

— 🌸 —

Ryan escapes to his old room, exhausted, at just after 11pm.

He loves his family, he really does, but one more round of Clue and he would’ve been damn ready to commit a murder with a candlestick himself.

He stretches, sits down on his old bed to take off his fancy button-up and slacks, gets a T-shirt out of his duffle bag to get more comfortable. He’s exhausted, could pretty much fall asleep right here and now.

He finally gives into his impatience and checks his phone when he returns from brushing his teeth. Shane has read his last text but not replied to it, and maybe that shouldn’t make Ryan’s stomach sink the way it does.

Whatever. He was on a plane. He's probably with his family now. There are a million reasons why he didn’t reply to him and none of them are _He’s not actually in Chicago to spend the holidays there, instead he flew out to see some rich guy and is currently being railed in a mansion on a private island by someone taller and sexier than me._

And if he did, whatever, Ryan wouldn’t care. Shane can do whatever he wants.

He shakes his head as he opens the messenger app to text him.

(11:31pm) **You** : I survived

(11:32pm) **You** : My mom makes, like, the best food ever btw

He types, "You should come with me the next time", erases it again, lip wedged between his teeth.

Too pathetic, _way_ too gay.

(11:36pm) **You** : Would still be up for dessert though 😜

He closes the app right after sending that, wonders if someone would ask questions if he just legged it into the living room right now and chucked his phone into the fireplace.

It buzzes half a second later, and he almost drops it on his own face.

(11:37pm) **shane** : terrible

(11:37pm) **shane** : ...go on tho

He smiles, his heart suddenly weighing 10 tons less.

(11:38pm) **You** : You alone?

(11:38pm) **shane** : yeah. about to go to bed

(11:38pm) **You** : Can I facetime you

(11:38pm) **shane** : please do

Shane picks up the call immediately, and Ryan hadn’t realized how much he wanted to see his face and hear his voice, his simple "Hey, you," making him feel better immediately, and he wasn’t even feeling bad in the first place. He settles back against the giant pillows, getting as comfortable as he can while checking the little window on his phone screen, figuring out whether he looks attractive right now. He doesn’t want the angle to be off — being around Shane really has its consequences.

"Hi," he says, "hey."

Shane squints, smiling. "So, uh, awfully cliché way to start this conversation, but what are you wearing? I've never seen that shirt."

Ryan angles the phone down to show off his outfit as good as he can. "Lakers pajamas, baby."

"...Don’t take this next question as an insult. Did your Mom buy these for you?"

"She did."

Shane laughs, all soft and radiant. He looks tired, his hair a mess, and Ryan is suddenly overwhelmed with affection for him, the rush of it so sudden he's dizzy with it. He distracts himself by staring at the wall behind Shane's head, deep blue like the sea, and Ryan wonders if he's in a guest room, or if maybe that's what his old room looks like.

Come to think of it, he doesn't know a lot about Shane's childhood, his adolescence. He wonders if he's always had such a knack for soft things, or if that’s something he developed later in life, if he only started embracing that part of himself once he moved away. He wonders what Shane's parents would say if he brought a guy home.

Shane must be reading his mind — as he so often does. "So. All alone in that old room of yours. I bet you still got Lakers posters everywhere, don't you?"

Ryan grins. "Guilty. How about you? Madonna?"

He's just teasing, but Shane makes a face. "Oh, I was a Britney kind of girl, and you know it," Shane muses, making it sound sultry on purpose, and maybe that really shouldn't go straight to Ryan's dick, but he can't help it.

He clears his throat. "So, uh, you're in your room?"

Shane smiles. "No. I mean, yeah, yes, this was my room, but I kind of took most of my decorations and stuff with me when I went to college, and then I brought ‘em to LA. This is the guest room now. No trace of old Shane in here. It’s a pity, he had style. I’m gonna show you pictures when I get back, I can’t believe I’ve never done that."

"I can’t wait to see."

Shane frowns, like he’s trying to figure out if Ryan’s being sarcastic. He’s not, and Shane must realize that, because his face visibly relaxes. He hides a yawn behind his hand. "Look, I’m sorry. I’d love to, you know. But I’m _exhausted_."

He looks genuinely sorry, and Ryan can’t help but smile. "Dude, I didn’t call just to... you know. I just wanted to…"

_I just wanted to see you._

"...say goodnight, is all.”

Shane cocks a brow. "You’re pretty sappy, you know that?"

"I do.”

Shane stretches. "I’m glad you called," he says, and then, quieter, "I miss you," and it sounds so serious Ryan doesn’t know what to do with himself. He just looks at him, hopes Shane is too tired to notice that he’s truly lost for words.

"Yeah," he says after a beat, "I, uh. Yeah."

They kind of just look at each other that, Shane with a knowing smile on his lips, like he knows exactly that what he said messed with Ryan, and he probably does. He ends up finally breaking the silence by asking about their Clue game, and Ryan is relieved that the conversation has been diverted.

They end up chatting some more before Shane declares he’s about to fall asleep sitting up, yawning, and he blows a kiss at the screen before he hangs up.

Insufferable.

— 🌸 —

Ryan's phone chirps right before he’s about to fall asleep.

(1:02am) **shane** : 😴💭🍆

 _Insufferable_.

— 🌸 —

_Shane in Ryan’s living room, raising a glass, smiling at him through a crowd of people. Shane on his laptop screen, wicked little grin around his painted lips as he fingers himself lazily and reaches one billion subscribers. Shane under him, his moans whiny as Ryan pounds into him. Shane on his bed, doing a show while Ryan watches from the other side of the room, eyes never leaving Ryan as he strokes his dick._

Ryan doesn't know where to look.

Doesn’t ever know where to look, because Shane is everywhere, deep under his skin. Used to be an itch he couldn’t scratch and he still can’t figure it out and he’s starting to think he may as well tear all his skin off, he’s never gonna stop digging until all that’s left of him is tendons and arteries and blood.

 _His fingers in Shane’s hair as Shane lazily sucks him off, the morning sun drenching everything in golden light. His fingers in Shane’s mouth, making him taste his own come. His fingers interlaced with Shane’s as they’re watching TV, Shane about to fall asleep sitting up,_ I’m not tired, shut up. _His fingers in Shane’s hair again, soft, tender because he fell asleep in his lap._

(Ryan thinks, irritated, that maybe the time he’s spent watching Shane sleep has surpassed the time he’s spent watching Shane come.)

_The way Shane looked at him at Ryan’s birthday party, like he was going to eat him up in front of everyone, make sure everybody knows exactly the kind of person Ryan has become, and Ryan would have let him._

_The 39 freckles on Shane’s shoulders._

_The little birthmark at the small of Shane’s back, he wonders how many people have seen it. He wonders how many people have kissed it, dragged their tongue over it like Ryan does before he makes his way down, down, down and puts his mouth where it belongs._

He wonders if Shane thinks he’s the best he’s ever had.

He wonders if Shane is the last he’ll ever have.

_Shane’s voice after Ryan throatfucks him. Shane’s voice when Ryan hits his prostate just right. Shane’s voice when he says Ryan’s name first thing in the morning._

_The off white of Shane’s favorite pair of underwear. The cotton candy pink of his hole. The red of his cardiovascular system—_

An emergency vehicle rushes past right under his window, siren blaring, violently ripping him from his dream, and Ryan jolts, reaches out to his side for a warm body next to him before realizing he’s alone, and not even in his own bed.

He lays there for a second, delirious and a little annoyed. He’s half-hard, and he reaches for the water bottle on his night stand, takes a sip of stale water, contemplates.

He’s tired, and maybe he should just ignore his dick and go back to sleep.

It’s an option, but not a very pleasant one.

His phone, when he checks it, marks the time as 3:20am, and he doesn’t put it down again. Ryan doesn’t have anything too explicit saved on here except a few faceless Snapchat screenshots, having splurged on a new phone after his birthday, and he usually only downloads the videos to his laptop, anyways. It’s for the best, really, he’s a pretty paranoid guy, and he doesn’t know how he would explain the content to anyone who may accidentally come across it.

Pretty fucking inconvenient, though, because now he’s got nothing to jerk off to except his own memory, and he needs to _see_ Shane right now, live and in technicolor.

God, he wishes he were here.

Fuck it. He kicks the blanket off, shimmies out of his pajama pants, pulls up the browser on his phone. He should really remember to delete his history sometime, because the first suggestion once he types **C** into the search bar is one of Shane’s videos.

Well, whatever. If the universe wants him to watch this, then so be it. He opens it on full screen, balancing his phone in his left hand before he spits in his right one, wraps it around his dick. It’s moments like these where he realizes just how glad he is that he went to film school for three years — he’s not sure that otherwise he could fully appreciate **♡ CUTE SLUT TAKES 9 INCHES ♡** as the modern-day classic that it is.

Kind of odd that he spent precious time watching this before knowing it was filmed on Shane’s bedroom floor of all places. That’s Shane’s dresser in the background, and the slim figure that comes into view bends down to retrieve a small box from the bottom drawer.

This video is over a year old. He’s gotten a bigger one since then, considering people, including Ryan, kept sending him stuff.

His dick twitches immediately at the sight of Shane coming closer to the camera and bringing his box with him, even though nothing is even happening yet. He’s watched this so often that it’s pavlovian.

Shane on screen kneels down as he opens the box, his shirt riding up and revealing his stomach. He retrieves a few toys, arranges them on his floor from smallest to biggest. Ryan swallows. This is one of the slower videos, a whopping hour and 20 minutes long. He had paid good money for this back then, but he doesn’t think he could last that long even if someone held a gun to his head right now.

He'd clap himself on the back if he even managed to get through Shane fingering himself, if he’s being honest, and so he skips through all the mundane stuff — Shane dragging his palms over his shirt (it’s one of the tackiest he owns, curly font spelling _I’m a virgin_ across his non-existent tits, and then, smaller, _This is a very old shirt._ ), Shane pulling down his underwear, Shane squirting lube in his hand before pushing the smallest toy inside of him with a moan — and instead goes right to the good content.

51 minutes in is where it starts getting _really_ interesting, and Ryan’s vision goes black for a second as he watches Shane fuck himself on the biggest dildo he owns.

Well, at the time. Ryan had ordered him a bigger one after that, because he only wants the best for him.

Watching this, it doesn’t take long for Ryan to get himself going — he’s only one man, and even with the volume turned as low as possible, Shane’s noises are too delightful, all those sweet little bit-off moans and whines, his pretty dick flush and heavy as he bounces on the toy.

Ryan wishes he could get his hands, his mouth on it, reach into the screen and pull Shane right out and into his lap. Because sure, watching Shane’s body move like this is enough to get off, but it’s nothing compared to the way he looks on top of him in real life — the weight, the life of him, the way he smiles when Ryan’s fingers dig into his hips.

He comes with his eyes closed, biting his lip so he doesn’t make too much noise.

After he’s finished catching his breath, he cleans up as best as he can while moving as little as possible — he knows it’s gross, but he’s fucking tired, and Shane isn’t here to scold him anyways.

The video is still open when he picks his phone up again, and he clicks on the link that takes him to Shane’s profile.

He’s always liked the way Shane changes his profile depending on the time of the year, adding little gifs and emojis everywhere. It’s tacky, but it’s so _him._ He’s gotta ask him one day, if the website is customizable like this or if maybe Shane’s got a secret knack for coding.

He’s not sure he’d even be surprised by it.

There’s a post pinned on his profile, indicating importance by how the pink is a slightly darker hue than the other posts, the title reading 🎁 **_HOLIDAY ANNOUNCEMENT_ **🎁.

Ryan skims it, and then his eyes catch on a word, and he reads it again.

Reads it again.

Reads it once more, for good measure, just to make sure. 

 

> _hoe-hoe-hoe! happy holidays!_ 🎄 _just a lil heads-up: i wont be streaming at all from december 20th until january 9th. im spending christmas with my family and new years eve with my boyfriend, so see you in the new year!_ 😙✨

Ryan swallows, his throat dry as a desert. He reaches for the water and knocks the bottle of his nightstand, doesn’t even flinch when it hits the ground, has already forgotten about it, because—  

_My boyfriend._

That’s him, then, he guesses, because Ryan most certainly invited Shane to celebrate the New Year with him, and Shane most certainly said yes.

He feels like he should be shocked, maybe, terrified, but instead there’s something in his chest vaguely the shape of _relief_ , like maybe he’s been waiting for Shane to bring this up.

And maybe he should just take this and run, then.

He puts his phone down, a little delirious.

"Huh," he says to the ceiling.

He sleeps like a goddamn baby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from **christmas tree** by lady gaga. the only valid christmas song.


	4. pink, that's the flavor

****Shane arrives at LAX with 239 Christmas wishes in his inbox (many of which are dick pics, and none of which are dicks he actually wants to see) and a nasty, shiver-inducing cold.

He almost sneezes in someone’s face when they ask him for a selfie as he’s waiting for his luggage at baggage claim, and he really, _really_ hopes that the picture just kind of gets lost in the void as a lockscreen and they don’t tag him on Instagram. He looks like death, there’s no way his eyes weren’t closed in that picture, and he can practically see the memes already.

Then again, whatever, he doesn’t even care that much; he’s sick and tired, just wants to be _home_ , wants to bury himself under ten blankets with a hot water bottle and sleep for a week.

Ryan’s waiting outside for him, some lo-fi music playing in low volume over his speakers, and his face falls when Shane slides into the passenger seat after lugging his suitcase into the trunk. “God, you look awful,” he says, and Shane manages a weak smile, “are you alright?”

He shrugs, “I’ve been better,” he rasps, his voice coming out like somebody dragged his vocal cords over a cheese grater.

Ryan raises his brows, looks around to see if anyone is watching them and then leans in, and Shane blinks. “I’m gross,” he warns him, “seriously,” but Ryan just rolls his eyes and closes the distance to kiss him anyways.

“Being gross is kind of your thing,” he announces casually after they part, smiling as he starts his car to drive Shane home, and well, he’s got a point.

— 🌸 —

(5:20pm) **r** **y** 💖 **:** Are u feeling better

(6:05pm) **r** **y** 💖 **:** Hey..?

(7:21pm) **r** **y** 💖 **:**????????

(7:32pm) **You** **:** sorry.,jus wuke p

(7:32pm) **You** **:** *just woke up

(7:33pm) **You** **:** Im dying but im fine 🤧

(7:36pm) **r** **y** 💖 **:** should i come over???

Ryan had asked, earlier, if Shane wanted to stay at his place instead, listing every single item he had stashed in his medicine cabinet, (including Q-tips, for some reason) and Shane had politely declined.

He regrets it, now that he’s laying in bed with a pounding headache, but he feels like it’s too late to do a 180 and back out now. Ryan’s got better things to do, probably.

(7:37pm) **You** **:** and get u sick too?

(7:37pm) **You** **:** im okay dont worry. thanks tho 😘

(7:40pm) **r** **y** 💖 **:** OK well

(7:40pm) **r** **y** 💖 **:** Im kinda like..On the way already.

(7:42pm) **You** **:** ?

(7:43pm) **r** **y** 💖 **:** Yeah I’m sorta like...at the check out in the 7/11 across from your place

(7:43pm) **r** **y** 💖 **:** Buying oranges for u

(7:43pm) **r** **y** 💖 **:** Vitamins babeyyyyyyyyyy 💦🍊💦

And it’s a good thing Shane’s voice is basically gone anyways, otherwise, this would have rendered him speechless.

— 🌸 —

Ryan’s as quiet as possible when he lets himself in — which isn’t very quiet at all, but he tries — sets down his stuff in the living room and slips into the dark of his bedroom, changing into something more comfortable.

“You’re gonna get sick,” Shane warns him when he gets into bed with him, and he can practically hear Ryan roll his eyes when he says, “I don’t care.”

His throat still hurts, but he can’t let go of this whole… thing. “I’ve never had a fan buy me fruit before, that’s a new one.”

Ryan slips a warm hand under his shirt. “Shush. Stop talking. It’s not good for your throat.”

“Mmh. Assertive. Love that.”

“Is that my shirt?”

He hums, leans into the touch, and Ryan smiles against the skin of his neck. “You have so many, one would think you didn’t need to steal them from me constantly.”

“Can wear one of mine if it bothers you so much.”

Ryan snorts. “Sure. You want me to go with _Blowjob University Graduate_ or _Mount and Do Me_?”

A laugh that he can’t hold in sends him into a coughing fit, a bad one, one that makes him sit up and reach for his water bottle. Ryan watches him carefully, like he may die any second.

It’s kind of nice, the attention. The genuine affection it hints at.

His voice comes out faint when he remarks, “You did buy both of those.”

A smile again. “I did. Now come back here.”

He can’t exactly say no to that, doesn’t want to, and with Ryan’s arm slung around him, Ryan’s body behind him, he’s out like a light within seconds.

 

* * *

 

By the time New Year’s Eve comes around, Ryan is still squatting at his apartment — citing “concerns” for Shane’s health and safety — but Shane is doing way better save for the occasional sneeze, and it’s not like he doesn’t enjoy the company. And who could have known that the same Ryan who is currently stuffing his face with cheetos while tap-tapping away at his laptop could list the health benefits of every citrus fruit? Full of surprises, the guy.

He’s definitely going to miss the freshly squeezed juice once Ryan goes back to staying at his own place.

“How are you feeling?” Ryan asks from behind his screen, for maybe the fifth time today, and Shane yawns, stretches. “Way better.” he says, “I should shower. I feel disgusting.”

“Well, go shower then. But hurry. I’ve got plans.”

“...Plans.”

“Yep. Was thinking I’d take you out for dinner. If you’re up for that.”

Shane cocks a brow. “Dinner? It’s 2pm.”

“Yeah, I mean. I also really wanted to, uh, fuck you before that. So.”

It’s a plan.

— 🌸 —

Shane’s hair is still wet when his back hits the mattress.

“I missed this,” Ryan says, kissing his way down Shane’s chest, “missed you,” the words whispered, like they’re a secret, and Shane shivers.

Ryan hasn’t gotten his hair cut in a while, and it’s perfect — Shane can just bury his hand in it and pull on it a little while Ryan continues moving downwards, and it forces all these tiny, soft noises out of Ryan, ones he doesn’t want to make but can’t help from coming out when Shane touches him like this.

“God, why’d you even put on underwear,” Ryan says, muffled against the skin of his inner thigh, close to the hollowed junction where it connects with Shane’s bony hip, “fucking tease,” and Shane laughs, a choked-off, soft sound when Ryan presses a kiss to the delicate skin there. He wonders if Ryan’s gonna leave bruises, hopes he does.

Ryan motions for him to turn over, and Shane easily complies, lies on his stomach as Ryan manhandles him into position. He’s still a little under the weather and somehow it makes him feel even more fragile than usual, brittle-boned, one delicate, dirty thing.

He’s waiting for something — for Ryan to take off his underwear, mostly, but he doesn’t, instead mouths at him through the thin, lacy fabric, and well, that’s even better.

And the past days, _weeks_ have clearly taken their toll on Ryan as well — he doesn’t tease any more than he has to, doesn’t fuck around, just presses one chaste kiss to the small of his back before pulling Shane’s underwear to the side and diving right in, licking into him, the tip of his tongue slipping inside like a key into a secret lock, and Shane keens.

It’s fucking perfect like this — his dick leaking in his underwear, his thigh trembling in Ryan’s one-handed grip while Ryan eats him out. He’s making pay-by-the-hour sounds, rutting against the sheets as much as the position allows him to, and he thinks that he could come just like this, just a little more—

And then Ryan just… stops.

He hears himself whine at the loss of Ryan’s mouth, but he’s expecting a spit-slick finger pressing against him, maybe two, maybe three — God knows he would love that, take it without complaint. When nothing happens after a few seconds, he raises his head, looks over his shoulder.

Ryan’s just kneeling there, looking just as ruined as Shane feels, his mouth red.

“Hi,” Shane manages, his voice a mess, “you okay?”

Ryan’s face is flushed, his hair a beautiful mess. “I, uh. Sorry, I’m just… What are we?”

Shane stares.

He’s not sure he heard that right.

“...I, uh. Okay, confession. When you were gone, I like… I went onto your account ‘cause I was, well, I wanted to jack off, whatever, and you called me your... You called me a word, and it got me thinking, and like… It’s been a few months, and what are we? Like, what am I to you?”

Oh, hell no. Shane can feel every last bit of color drain from his face, and he sits up, swallows.

Damn him to hell for picking the first word that sort of applied without even _thinking_ that Ryan might see it, and damn Ryan’s horny ass to hell for not being able to go a single day without looking up pink_princess’ account, and _what the hell_ is that about, anyways, that Ryan can’t even jerk off to anyone else, apparently.

“I… didn’t really think you would see that,” he says, drawing his knees up to his chest, and it’s the truth, “I just… What else am I supposed to say? _My coworker with the perfect dick who is the only person I’ve hooked up with in months_? That’s the truth, but I thought boyfriend would like… sum it up, you know. Don’t need to tell everyone my whole life story. I’m sorry if that threw you off guard. Just forget about it, Ryan.”

Ryan looks up from where he’s drawing some sort of obscure pattern on Shane’s sheets with his forefinger, eyebrows furrowed together. “You think my dick is perfect?”

“I mean, _yeah_ , but that’s not the point of— Just… I didn’t mean anything by that. I don’t wanna put you under any pressure or… as I said, didn’t think you’d see that. We don’t need to, you know, put a label on it or whatever. It’s great the way it is. Really great.”

Silence.

Then, “Whatifiwanttothough.”

“What.”

He’s entirely lost, his head spinning, thoughts racing at 200 mph.

“Like. What if I… want that,” Ryan says, and then, even quieter, “You know, put a label on it, and like… be your… b-boyfriend, or whatever. Like, just hypothetically.”

“ _Hypothetically_.”

“Yeah. As in, if you don’t want it, then we’ve never talked about this and I ask you very kindly to forget I ever mentioned it, but if you… actually meant it or whatever, then. You know, sure, I’ll be your boyfriend. I—I guess.”

Huh.

“Ryan.”

“Yes.”

“C’mere.”

Ryan inches closer, suddenly timid. Face to face like this, Shane observes the blush high in Ryan’s cheeks, the way his lower lip trembles when Shane reaches out and brushes his thumb over it. “This is huge,” he says, “I don’t want you to say things you don’t really mean. I don’t want you to commit to things just because I want them.”

“So you _do_ want it.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“I mean, why wouldn’t _I_?”

Shane smiles, shakes his head. “I never thought you would. You thought you were straight, like, half a year ago, Ryan, and you weren’t exactly quiet about that.”

“I guess I’m not. And I’m still trying to deal with that, I still don’t know what I am or if I need a name for it but... I like you. More than a friend. More than a fuck. I mean, you can see that I’m pretty fucking whipped, right?”

Shane feels himself smile, and Ryan smiles back, the moment more tender than it has any right to be. He reaches out, tugs Ryan closer and on top of him when he lays down, on his back this time. “You gonna finish what you started?”

Ryan swallows. “Yeah, sure. Uh, stuff…”

Shane’s hand is already in his top drawer, blindly fishing for what he needs. He bites his lip, considers, then passes Ryan the bottle of lube and nothing else.

Ryan stares. “I need, uh...” and Shane shakes his head.

“I trust you,” he says, means it entirely, and Ryan gets it, then.

“Fuck, Shane—”

“Yeah, that’s the plan.”

Ryan rolls his eyes, but he looks enthusiastic, lathers basically his whole hand in lube and presses two fingers against Shane immediately, and Shane shakes his head, reaches down to bat his hand away. “Fuck me,” he says, “I can take it.”

Ryan looks overwhelmed, but he peels out of his shirt, his underwear, his dick already hard and leaking and gorgeous and everything Shane ever wanted.

“I’ve missed you,” Shane says, “so much,” and then Ryan’s dick is right there, the head of it breaching him and he knows it’s too soon and too much, the pressure of it making him whine, but he takes it, because he can; because he needs it like this, has to feel it for days and they both know it.

Sex has always been one of Shane’s favorite things in the world, but it’s never been like this — never this vivid, never so intense, Ryan pressing into him, biting his lip at the feeling when he bottoms out and gives him everything he needs. There’s this angle that only seems to exists between Ryan’s dick and Shane’s legs, some magic kind of math they don’t teach in school. Ryan leans into it, hips grinding to make him shake apart inch by inch.

“Tell me,” Shane hears himself say, “tell me how much you love it.”

Ryan’s hands at his hips grip him even harder, leaving marks in their wake. “I love it,” he says, his voice barely more than a gasp, so far gone already, “I love your fucking— God, _Shane_ , I just— you’re so fucking— so pretty, look so fucking good taking my dick like this, baby, I can’t—”

He slows down a little just to get a hand around Shane’s dick, and that’s really all it takes to push him over the edge, make him come all over himself.

Through his post-orgasm haze he can tell Ryan is close, too, by the way his hips stutter, his breathing all erratic, and he swipes his finger though the mess all over his chest and stomach, brings it up to Ryan’s mouth and Ryan closes his lips around it, sucks at his come like he’s starving, moaning like he’s the one with a dick in him, and God, one day, maybe.

Shane withdraws his hand, then repeats the motion, two fingers this time, pushes them into his mouth and Ryan looks right at him, eyes half-lidded, and Shane whispers “Slut,” and that’s it, Ryan _whines,_ dropping his forehead against Shane’s clavicle as he spills inside of him, the feeling of it unlike anything he’s ever felt before.

Silence, then. Minutes pass.

And he could stay like this forever, maybe, if it wasn’t for the uncomfortable wet spot on the bed, or Ryan’s come leaking out of him, or Ryan’s weight on top of him, crushing him. All of it’s not entirely unpleasant, but he still groans, nudges Ryan a little. “Move. I’m gonna have to shower again. This is bad for the environment, Bergara, you should be ashamed.”

Ryan makes a noise, spent, makes no intention of actually moving off him. “You know, you never actually said it,” he says after a while, hair falling into his face when he raises his head where he was laying on Shane’s chest, and Shane pushes it back to really look at him.

“Said what.”

“If I’m your boyfriend or not.”

Shane rolls his eyes. “You are.”

“Okay. Well, as your boyfriend, I’m pretty sure I get to shower with you, so... That’s saving water, I think.”

“I… can’t argue with that. C’mon, then.”

It’s a pretty good end to the year, Shane thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 😳
> 
> chapter title from **blow** by beyoncé.


	5. i wanna see you lookin’ up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slaps roof of this chapter* this bad boy can fit so much cum in it
> 
> ...all jokes aside, thank you for joining me on this journey. when i first came up with the concept of camboy!shane, i wouldn't have dreamt of writing more than maybe 1k words for it, and i also wouldn't have dreamt of the overwhelming support this has gotten. shoutout to freddie for thinking this monstrosity up with me, and to elena and val for putting up with it / beta-ing. 
> 
> and to whoever is reading this — thank you, too.

Ryan sits down at his desk on Wednesday morning with a whole lot of work to do — there is some last-minute editing on the new Black Dahlia video to be done, and they’re scheduled to start working on the new season as soon as Shane is back. This last week without him, there’s preparations to be done, calls to be made, outlines to be written, pictures to be printed. Which is great, because it leaves him with barely any time to overthink, worry about whether it’s all over his face.

 _It_ being, of course, the big deal, the one that doesn’t feel like one most of the time, but then it occurs to him again — someone mentions their significant other, or maybe he just looks at his phone and sees the picture of them there that serves as his lockscreen now. It’s a fairly innocuous one, just a stupid selfie from over a year back, Shane sticking out his tongue and doing a peace sign in front of Ryan’s own goofy face, but it’s still _Shane_.

(Shane, who’s probably still asleep in his bed like he was when Ryan left for work. Not without kissing his forehead, because hey, the only time he ever really gets to do that is when Shane’s laying down.)

Come to think of it, Shane never told him _when_ he figured out that Ryan was a fan; he’s never asked. Did he know, back then when they took this, that Ryan was dying to touch him without even knowing it was him? That Ryan spent most of his nights fantasizing of faceless pretty boys in his lap?

He wonders what it’ll be like, once they’re both back to work, sitting next to each other. Sure, they _have_ been working together ever since that first night — with Shane, on more than one occasion, casually bumping his elbow / nudging his foot with his own / stealing his coffee while wagging his stupid eyebrows — but he feels like it’ll be different now.

And someone’s bound to find out, eventually, he knows that. Keeping it quiet from fans is doable, and he figures that is in everyone’s best interest for the next few months at least, but hiding the whole thing from their colleagues — it’s next to impossible. They _already_ get teased for being practically attached at the hip, and Ryan really isn’t the best at keeping a straight face, pun intended.

He wonders who’s gonna know first. They should probably tell someone, right? Maybe start with their Unsolved team, work their way through their closest friends, and— yeah, this is something he should really discuss with Shane.

He might be a little scared.

Okay, he’s absolutely terrified.  
  
But he knows that when the moment comes, he won’t have to face it alone.

 

* * *

 

His phone buzzes a couple minutes into lunch, and Ryan believes he deserves some kind of award or at least monetary compensation for not dropping his food. Or his phone, for that matter.

(1:12pm) **shane** : hey babe

(1:12pm) **shane** : sup 💕

(1:12pm) **shane** : [Image Attachment]

A blurry selfie. Glossy,  pink lips wrapped around two fingers, knuckle-deep.

(1:12pm) **You** : SHANE

(1:13pm) **shane** : oh is it a bad time?

(1:13pm) **shane** : [Image Attachment]

A manicured hand, the soft, smooth skin of a stomach. A hint of hip bones, white lace.

(1:13pm) **You** : IM AT WORK

(1:14pm) **shane** : you posted on insta. you’re at lunch.

(1:15pm) **You** : Shane you cant just send me shit like this

(1:16pm) **shane** : i can and i will 😚

(1:16pm) **shane** : [Image Attachment]

When he looks up from the picture — and yeah, that’s Shane’s ass, alright, and his underwear says _Spank me!_ in a playful, girly font, because of course it fucking does — he’s being stared at by four separate people. He realizes what he must look like, his sandwich frozen mid-air on its way to his mouth while he’s typing frantically with one hand, and he can feel the blush that’s arisen in his cheeks.

He shoves his food into his mouth, which turns out to be a great move, because it keeps him from whimpering when the next picture arrives.

Yeah, that’s a hole.

(1:17pm) **You** : Holy fuck What is your endgame here

(1:17pm) **shane** : depends

(1:17pm) **shane** : for how much longer is yr break

(1:18pm) **You** : Like 15 mins

(1:18pm) **shane** : great

(1:18pm) **shane** : go to the bathroom and jerk off for me

He wishes that the blood rushing to his dick would at least come from his face so he wouldn’t be blushing _and_ half hard, but luck doesn’t seem to be on his side today.

(1:19pm) **You** : ??!!,??!!?

(1:20pm) **shane** : you want it right?

(1:20pm) **shane** : i know youre thinking about it

(1:20pm) **shane** : clocks ticking babe. you really wanna go back to your desk without getting off? i know youre gonna be thinking about it all shift

(1:21pm) **shane** : ry? 💋

(1:21pm) **You** : You raise a good point but also

(1:22pm) **You** : What the fuck is your problem Shane

(1:20pm) **shane** : 😘

The next picture arrives, and Ryan just clears his throat, mumbles an excuse, and off he goes.

— 🌸 —

He can’t believe he’s doing this.

Actually, much worse: He _can_ believe he’s doing this.

Damn Shane Alexander Madej to hell and back.

(1:24pm) **You** : Im in the bathroom. What now

(1:24pm) **shane** : oh youre really doing it. good

(1:24pm) **shane** : well.

(1:24pm) **shane** : is anyone there with you

(1:24pm) **You** : Im alone.

His phone, rings, then, and he’s not even surprised.

Maybe he was hoping for it.

“You’re the worst,” he says as a greeting, and Shane giggles, his voice all bright. Ryan can picture him perfectly — it’s cold today, but the sun is high as ever, not a single cloud in the sky, and he can see him rolling around in his sheets, sunlight coming in through the window and dancing across his pale skin.

It’s a much better image than the off-white of the bathroom stall he is in right now, leaning against the locked door.

“Hi, Ryan.”

“I can’t believe you fucking—”

“Shush. Keep your voice low. Don’t want anyone to hear you, right?”

He’s got a point. Ryan shuts up.

“...Do you think they know? Do you think they’re sitting there right now, wondering where the hell you went? Are you already thinking of what to say when you get back?”

He knows it’s a rhetorical question, but he can’t help the words from coming out. “No,” he murmurs, “I’m thinking about you.”

Shane laughs again, and it goes straight to his dick. He's not fully hard, not yet, but he's definitely on the way. It won't take much.

“Elaborate.”

“I’m… I wish I was there.”

He sighs, works his belt open, gets a hand into his underwear, his own fingers familiar as he grips his dick, giving it a slow stroke. It’s too dry, and so he lifts his hand, spits, and Shane chuckles. “You touching yourself?”

He makes an affirmative sound, a throaty noise escaping his mouth when he shoves his boxers down as good as he can, gets his hand around his dick again, way better now that it’s spit-slick.

“Close your eyes,” Shane says, voice soft, and Ryan does as he’s told. “Are you hard for me?”

Ryan bites his lip. “I’m— getting there, yeah.”

“Good.” Ryan can hear the smile in his voice. “Are your eyes closed? I’m on my knees in front of you now.”

“For real? The floor is kinda gross, Shane, you don’t want…”

“Shush. I’ve had worse,” Shane muses, and from what he’s told him about past adventures, Ryan figures he really has.

In fact, he always thought glory holes were an urban legend until Shane told him all about them.

“I’m going to put my mouth on you now. Would you like that?”

“I— _Shane_ , please.”

“Say it.”

“I want it. Please. I want your—”

He doesn’t know how he even hears it over the sound of his own beating heart, his own heavy breathing, but the door swings open, then, heavy footsteps making their way to the urinals, the sound of a zipper.

This whole thing is such a bad fucking idea.

“You still there? ...Oh, did someone come in?” Shane sounds _way_ too excited about that. “You didn’t stop touching yourself, did you? Because you know I wouldn’t. If I was there, I’d keep going. And you’d let me, because you love it. Take you all the way in until I’m gagging on it, you know that, right?”

The sound of running water, then, and the door slamming shut again, and Ryan _groans_ , the sound echoing off the tiles.

Shane hums, "Is he gone? Keep going. Jerk it for me, let me hear you."

His own voice is needy, his own grip not enough, he wants more, Shane’s hand, Shane’s mouth, Shane's fingers in his—

"I want that too."

He didn’t realize he was saying all that out loud, but whatever. He starts swiping his thumb over the head on the upstroke, groaning breathily down the phone because, fuck, it feels so fucking good. Nothing like Shane, but with his voice on the other side, it’s enough to get close.

Dangerously close, now, and he has to slow his strokes, right on the edge.

“C-can I come?”

He doesn’t know why he asks him, it just feels appropriate, and Shane moans, says, “Fuck, Ryan—” and Ryan’s own moans are broken, little hiccupping breaths accompanying them, “Shane, please,” and Shane’s own voice is breathless when he says, “Yeah, good boy, do it, come for me,” and God, Ryan _does_ , all over his hand, all over _the fucking bathroom floor_.

It takes a couple seconds for his vision to adjust again, even longer to catch his breath, and when he does, he laughs. “What on earth was that?”

Shane giggles. “You liked it.”

“I… did.”

“Good. I’ll see you in a few hours. Got a surprise for you.”

He hangs up before Ryan can even tell him how fucking ominous that sounds, all things considered.

— 🌸 —

After cleaning up the worst of it all from the floor and his hands, he checks the time, and he still has two minutes left to get back. Which is good, because the last thing he needs is to be scolded for being late _because he had phone sex in a fucking toilet cubicle._

“You’re a mess,” he says to himself in the mirror, but there’s no bite to it.

To be honest, he feels pretty damn good.

About everything in his life, really.

 

* * *

 

 **_@pink_princess92_ ** _has updated their profile!_  

> 🎀 CUMBACK ANNOUNCEMENT 🎀
> 
> _hi yall!_ ♡ _welcome back! i missed u so much!_ 😢  
>  ♡ _1 hr show at 8pm, u dont wanna miss this!_ 💦  
>  _back to my regular schedule next week!_ 💕  
>  _ps: my mic is broken so no audio tonite :( sorry!_  

“Hold on, your mic is broken?”

Shane doesn’t look up at Ryan when he lets out a little laugh, murmurs, “Oh, no.”

And that’s all he will say about that.

— 🌸 —

Two hours to go until the show, and maybe Ryan’s been naive, hadn’t really considered how much prep work goes into this whole camshow thing.

He watches, kind of in awe, as Shane darts from room to room, all energetic, moving things from the living room to the bed and from the bed to the drawer and from the drawer to his nightstand; flattens the sheets with his hand so they look nice and tidy.

He’s not wearing one of Ryan’s shirts for once, but Ryan sort of wishes he was. Seeing him casually prance around in a crop top and skimpy underwear instead is nothing short of torture.

Finally, and to Ryan’s wonder, Shane drags a kitchen chair into his bedroom before disappearing into the bathroom, presumably to shower and get dressed.

He doesn’t come out for almost an hour, and when he does, he’s wearing _make-up_. And not just the lips, which has become kind of pink_princess’ thing — Ryan is anything but an expert, but he can recognize blush and some stuff on his eyelids, his lashes unnaturally dark and long.

Which is weird, because, well, Shane doesn’t show his face in his streams.

“What’s all this?” he says, gesturing, and Shane shrugs.

“I’m doing a show.”

“Yeah, but…”

“Well, you’ll be watching, right?”

He nods, dumbfounded, and Shane grins, and then he puts two and two together — the chair, the outfit, the entire thing — and he _gets_ it.

And here’s the thing: Ryan is physically stronger than Shane, _much_ stronger than him, and they both like that. Shane— he’s scrawny, too much limb, no muscle. As far as Ryan is concerned, the only time he’s ever seen a gym from the inside was for their Test Friends series.

But.

Shane is tall, of course, way taller than Ryan, and when he stands right in front of him in his fucking thigh-highs and puts a finger under his chin, lifts it up so Ryan looks at him, says, “Yeah, you will,” — it makes Ryan’s throat tighten in all the right ways.

He follows him into the bedroom.

— 🌸 —

This is, without a doubt, the worst day in Ryan Bergara’s life.

Forget about that time he fell off his bike as a kid and broke his leg in two places. Forget about that time his car ran out of gas on the highway and he had to wait two hours for AAA and ended up missing the first showing of The Dark Knight. Forget, especially, about that time Twitter glitched and made him believe LeBron James blocked him for 10 panic-stricken seconds.

No. This, sitting on a wobbly, vintage kitchen chair while Shane smirks at him from a few feet away, runs his hand over the front of his obscenely short plaid skirt, his nails painted candy-pink...

It’s the worst.

The show is supposed to go on for an hour and they’re barely 10 minutes in and he’s pretty sure his brain has short-circuited already.

Ryan is, to put it mildly, a little overwhelmed, and he swallows when Shane turns to him, speaking for the first time since they got here. “Well, now. I didn’t turn my mic off for nothing, Ry,” he says, hiking his skirt up for his audience, and Ryan stares, stares, stares, “Talk to me. Tell me what you want me to do?”

“I, uh— God, Shane.”

“C’mon, big boy. Use your words. I can’t just tease them for an hour, can I?”

He’s got a point. Ryan clears his throat.

“You should, uh. Touch yourself?”

“Touch myself where?”

There’s way too many options and every single one of them is overwhelming, but he figures that if Shane hands him the control over this, he may as well go with a favorite. “You, uh, you should finger yourself.”

He almost chuckles, then, at his own thought process. It’s an illusion of control at best. Shane’s pulling all the strings here, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like it.

Shane nods, obviously pleased with Ryan’s suggestion, and he adjusts his camera a little, then turns to the arsenal of objects he had dumped there earlier, grabs for the lube, coats his fingers in it, his eyes not leaving Ryan’s throughout the whole thing. He pushes his skirt up, his underwear aside. His wrists like little twigs, he looks too delicate to take the two fingers he sinks into his hole with a whine, and Ryan feels like he’s the one getting split open.

Shane’s loud, and not for the camera this time.

Three fingers now, and he’s making a show out of it, fingering himself open as slowly as he can, the sight of his fingers stretching him obscene. He catches Ryan’s eyes on him and smiles, wets his lips with his tongue.

He glances at his screen, million-dollar-smile still on his face. “Aww, look, Ryan,” he coos, “AssWrecker77 wants to buy me a new mic. Ain’t that sweet?”

He clears his throat. “That’s, uh, awfully considerate of AssWrecker. Shane, come on—”

“Right? I’ll have to give him something in return, though. What do you think?”

“...I think that’s appropriate.”

Shane nods, removes his fingers with a sigh, peels out of his underwear, and the noise that Ryan makes when it lands right at his feet is so embarrassing he doesn’t even mind that Shane giggles at it. He would too, probably, if he was capable of a feeling other than Big Horny.

At one point, between Shane grabbing his heart-shaped plug off his pile of toys and pushing it into himself with a whine and getting his hand around his dick to jack himself off slow and languid for the camera, Ryan zones out. It’s just too much — if he stares at anything for too long, really focuses on Shane’s hand around his own dick or the noises he’s making, he _is_ gonna come in his pants.

Which is kind of an intriguing thought, actually, what Shane might have in store for him then, but not intriguing enough to ruin the prospect of Shane actually interacting with his dick at one point tonight.

Another time, maybe.

He doesn’t know how long it takes — ten seconds, five minutes, a year — but by the time Shane licks his own come off his hand and shuts his laptop screen, Ryan’s so hard he can barely breathe, panting, ready to get on his knees and pray.

Or just get on his knees.

Ryan raises his head, really looks at him. He can only imagine what _he_ must look like, disheveled and undone by the mere sight of him, but Shane seems to like it. He’s beaming, afterglow painting his face the sweetest hue of pink. When he speaks up, the sound of his voice is enough to make him shudder.

“You want something?” he says, his voice sweet like honey.

Ryan squirms in his seat, nods, and Shane raises his brows. “Gotta say it, Ryan.”

Absentmindedly, he realizes he’s kept his hands on the edge of the armrests this whole time. Shane never told him to, but it felt like the right thing to do, still does.

“Please.”

Shane rolls his eyes. “Nuh-uh-uh, c’mon. Words, Ryan. What do you want?”

He’s wearing a collar tonight, by the way — a fan-favorite, a _Ryan_ -favorite, fake diamond letters spelling ANGEL on baby blue, synthetic leather.

Which _must_ be intentional, one more ironic kick to the gut; because he’s the fucking devil, that’s what this is, perhaps all those “what if Shane is a demon?” memes have been right all along and Ryan’s entire spirit is being broken for some cardinal sin he committed in a past life.

Well, joke’s on the universe, it’s entirely worth it.

“Shane, _God_ , please just come over here?”

“Say it, baby. Come on. Gotta be specific. You want my mouth on you?”

He scoots forward a little, sits on the edge of the bed, swinging his stupidly long legs like a schoolgirl, still wearing that fucking above-the-knee tennis skirt, wrinkled now.

“You want my dick? I mean, I just came, but I’m sure we can come up with something.”

If Ryan leaned forward, extended his hand out right now, he could touch him, but he doesn’t.

And he doesn’t have to, because Shane gets up, then, fed up with it all, crosses the few steps between them, stands right before him. Ryan doesn’t dare to move, doesn’t even dare to swallow the spit that’s accumulated in his mouth.

If he drools, well, it’s only appropriate.

Shane reaches out, grabs Ryan’s chin in his hand, leans in to say, “You want me to ride you? My pussy, Ryan, is that what you want?”, and that does it, Ryan _whines_ , leans into the touch, babbling, “Yeah, Shane, _please_ , just— touch me, I need— anything, Shane, _please_ , I’m gonna _die—_ ”

And then Shane’s right there, climbing on top of him without tipping the chair over somehow, just barely brushes against his clothed dick, and a noise wrenches itself from the hollow of Ryan’s throat. Not quite a sob, but something akin to it.

“Breathe, baby,” Shane says, pulling down his zipper, shimmying Ryan’s pants and underwear down as good as he can in their position, “I’ve got you.”

And, breathe, right. Inhale, exhale. That’s easy. That’s something he can do, even though his lungs feel as though there’s water in them, and then Shane finally, _finally_ gets his huge hand around his dick, and Ryan whines in relief, bucking into it.

It doesn't even build. Maybe there isn't anything to build, he's been on the edge this entire time. Shane simply touches him, trying to get a rhythm going, three or four even strokes and that’s it; all at once it just comes, pouring out of him like a burst dam, and it feels like it keeps on going and going, wringing him dry. There’s no spasms or convulsions, he doesn't scream or cry or anything dramatic, even though he feels like it. If anything, the last of his muscle tension spills hot into his hand, and then it's only Shane holding him up. Holding him together.

Just holding him.

When he comes to again, his first thought is wondering if Shane still has those handcuffs he insisted on getting for their True Crime shoot, and the idea makes his dick twitch.

“Hi, you,” Shane says when he realizes Ryan is somewhat alive, and Ryan just looks at him, “everything okay?”

“I’m… I’m good,” Ryan says, giddy with it, “how about you?”  and Shane replies by raising his hand to his mouth, licking off a stripe of Ryan’s come across his knuckles, and Ryan groans.

His legs feel like they’re made of jello, but he still manages to take the three steps when Shane eventually gets off of him, pulls him into bed by his hand; where there’s room for the two of them to lay together and make out like teenagers, at least after throwing the assortment of toys and bottles on the ground.

Any other time, he’d be disappointed in himself for coming already, upset he’s not getting to fuck him right now, but really, what’s there to be upset about?

They’ve got the rest of the night, they’ve got tomorrow, they’ve got next week. Countless days ahead of them.

At one point while they’re kissing, with Shane’s hand in his hair and his sighs in his mouth, Ryan pulls back enough to look at him, really look at him, his soft features, his sleepy smile, and he thinks, not for the first time, _God, I really am in love with you._

He doesn’t say it. He doesn't think there's enough courage in the world that would let him say it, not right now.

One day, though —and maybe it doesn’t even matter when he says it, whether it’s tomorrow or in a year.

Somehow, he suspects Shane knows already.

Somehow, he suspects Shane feels the same.

Somehow, that train of thought is the opposite of terrifying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from **get on your knees**. ([playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/sarahheine96/playlist/4fOAYlweSc0dAEP6ZxbVli?si=AzPF9epGS-6ugXMFBGae3A) · [general inspo / moodboard](https://open.spotify.com/user/sarahheine96/playlist/4fOAYlweSc0dAEP6ZxbVli?si=AzPF9epGS-6ugXMFBGae3A))
> 
> you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/skyierwhite) and [tumblr](http://skylerwhites.tumblr.com), also. 
> 
> — see you on the next one! 😘💕


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